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Chapter 8.
Next day, before the ladies were up, the wagonette and a trap for
the shooting party were at the door, and Laska, aware since early morn-
ing that they were going shooting, after much whining and darting to
and fro, had sat herself down in the wagonette beside the coachman,
and, disapproving of the delay, was excitedly watching the door from
which the sportsmen still did not come out. The first to come out was
Vassenka Veslovsky, in new high boots that reached half-way up his
thick thighs, in a green blouse, with a new Russian leather cartridge-
belt, and in his Scotch cap with ribbons, with a brand-new English gun
without a sling. Laska flew up to him, welcomed him, and jumping up,
asked him in her own way whether the others were coming soon, but
getting no answer from him, she returned to her post of observation
and sank into repose again, her head on one side, and one ear pricked
up to listen. At last the door opened with a creak, and Stepan
Arkadyevitch’s spot-and-tan pointer Krak flew out, running round and
round and turning over in the air. Stepan Arkadyevitch himself fol-
lowed with a gun in his hand and a cigar in his mouth.
“Good dog, good dog, Krak!” he cried encouragingly to the dog, who
put his paws up on his chest, catching at his game bag. Stepan
Arkadyevitch was dressed in rough leggings and spats, in torn trousers
and a short coat. On his head there was a wreck of a hat of indefinite
form, but his gun of a new patent was a perfect gem, and his game bag
and cartridge belt, though worn, were of the very best quality.
Vassenka Veslovsky had had no notion before that it was truly chic
for a sportsman to be in tatters, but to have his shooting outfit of the
best quality. He saw it now as he looked at Stepan Arkadyevitch,
radiant in his rags, graceful, well-fed, and joyous, a typical Russian
nobleman. And he made up his mind that next time he went shooting
he would certainly adopt the same get-up.
“Well, and what about our host?” he asked.
“A young wife,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling.
“Yes, and such a charming one!”
“He came down dressed. No doubt he’s run up to her again.”
Stepan Arkadyevitch guessed right. Levin had run up again to his
wife to ask her once more If she forgave him for his idiocy yesterday,
and, moreover, to beg her for Christ’s sake to be more careful. The great
thing was for her to keep away from the children—they might any
minute push against her. Then he had once more to hear her declare
that she was not angry with him for going away for two days, and to beg
her to be sure to send him a note next morning by a servant on horse-
back, to write him, if it were but two words only, to let him know that all
was well with her.
Kitty was distressed, as she always was, at parting for a couple of
days from her husband, but when she saw his eager figure, looking big
and strong in his shooting-boots and his white blouse, and a sort of
sportsman elation and excitement incomprehensible to her, she forgot
her own chagrin for the sake of his pleasure, and said good-bye to him
cheerfully.
“Pardon, gentlemen!” he said, running out onto the steps. “Have
you put the lunch in? Why is the chestnut on the right? Well, it doesn’t